Anchor
by NotThereNeverAround
Summary: A kiss and a book. His book. Between her palms. Time telescoped by living memory. Rory's conscience pricks at Truncheon, but time never stands still; things change. AU The Real Paul Anka.
1. Chapter 1

**Rating:** T for some cursing.

**Disclaimer**: Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the WB/CW.

**A/N**: Thanks to **Andra-ggfan** for all her support.

* * *

A kiss and a book.

His book. Between her palms.

Unhurried tension of long fingers at her elbow.

Inquisitive, she reached a hand into his hair. Longer now than when they were teenagers.

Habitual.

A book still clasped in the other.

A kiss. A book.

Time telescoped by living memory.

But when he found her waist the flood of guilt was sickening and familiar, and she started out of his grasp.

"Jess, I'm _so _sorry. I just - -I -"

"What?" emerged thickly out of his throat as he pulled himself upright.

"It's ... I'm not - -Not everything's fixed, okay? But it will be, just -"

He watched her set his book down and shook his head sharply as if waking when she started clawing at her pockets. "What're you talking about?"

"Two minutes. Gimme two minutes," she said, pulling out her phone, a hand on the door-knob.

"What? No! Rory, what the hell -"

"Please," she said, turning back. "Just gimme a sec, okay? I have to -"

"Rory, tell me what the fuck is going on 'cause I'm not digging this deja vu you're -"

"God! Voicemail," she burst out, phone at her ear. "Of course it's his voicemail. Lousy -"

"Whose -? - -Wait." His eyes flashed. "You are fucking _kidding _me."

She looked down.

Too composed, he folded his arms and asked flatly, "Whose voicemail, Rory?"

"Jess, it's not what you think, it's just I'm ..." She paused. "Technically -"

"Oh, technically? Well technically, Rory, just get the fuck out of here, okay?"

"What? Jess, no. You don't -"

"I said get out. I don't feel like getting used right now, so just go, alright? I mean it."

"Jess, it's not like that. I can't even look at him since -"

She stumbled in the rush, but flew on "- - I don't want to be with him. Just -"

"Who then? Come on. You got my interest. Who is it? And tell me it's not that guy with the fucking Porsche."

"It is. He was," she said and watched him roll his eyes. "But it's over. Or it would be if I could just get him on the damn phone." Stabbing buttons to redial.

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

"I know. I know it is. I'm sorry." _You've reached the voicema- _"But it's not what you're thinking. Honestly, Jess. I didn't -"

"Oh, you didn't? I'm not as dumb as I look, Rory."

"You don't -"

"Why though, huh? I mean, he's a Grade A asshole, but screwing an ex? Really?"

"You don't know -"

"No? Christ, I don't even wanna ask 'Why me?' What is this, payback or something?"

"Jess -"

"You know what, I don't care." Shoving his hands in his pockets, a curt nod indicated the door. "Just get out."

"No," she said and stood firm after turning fractionally but deliberately towards him. Door at her back. "I wanted to see you. I was _going _to thank you."

"Please," he sneered. "This is priceless. Seriously, price-"

"Jess, shut up and listen to me for God's sake. I just wanted to see you. Remember New York?"

He pulled his head back like she'd swung to hit him, confused now as well as furious. "Do I wh-? What are you _talking _about?"

"I came to see you because I missed you, goddammit. That's so hard to understand? I missed us being friends."

His arm shot out fast beside him. _Back there_. "_That _doesn't happen to friends."

"Well, no, but -"

"But what? What are you doing here, Rory? In Philadelphia for fuck's sake. And here - -And you kissed me back," he lashed out, "so don't even -"

"You're not listening! I wanted - -I don't know, he's out of town and -"

"Oh come _on_. You're not -"

"Just shut up and let me fucking explain, Jess!"

"Huh." She'd wrong-footed him again, but this time he hadn't visibly shied away from the blow. "Little unexpected maybe," he went on evenly, "but -"

"Oh, I'm shocking you, am I?" she bit back. "Well here's another one. I did want to see you. And you wanted me to come. Don't deny it."

"Maybe. Whatever. But this -"

"Is crazy, I know. And I'm sorry," she relented, urging more softly, "But I wanted to see you. To see you happy. - -In your element. Like you were in New York."

"Stop _talking _about New York." His hoarseness, its edge, took her by surprise.

"Wh-? Why?" she managed.

"It's _not _the same and you know it."

"It is, I -"

"Actually," he said, affecting thoughtfulness as he scratched his chin and spat out, "Yeah, I guess it is. Because you were with another guy then, too, right? And if we missed each other - -Jeez, _why _am I saying this?"

"Say it."

"It _wasn't _as friends."

"Maybe not, but -"

"You got a whim, Rory. Then too. Like scratching an itch."

Her eyes were wide. Wounded but fierce. "Don't you dare say that. Think that. That is _not _fair. Not now and definitely not then."

"No, huh?"

She bit her lip and blinked hard. "I ..." What she choked past strained her voice. "Why would you tarnish -"

"Fine. I'm not, alright?" He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Let heavy arms fall. "I'm not."

Silent. Catching fast breath.

Rory broke it quietly.

"I didn't come for - -For that. To cheat on him." She pulled an elbow across herself. "And I didn't come to hurt you, either. It's not payback, Jess."

"No?" he said, still acid.

"No. And I do miss you. Talking to you. Arguing -"

"Like this?"

"No."

"Good. 'Cause this part has always sucked."

He hadn't calmed much.

"Debating then," she said. "We ... we had fun, didn't we? And today. I had such a great time today."

"Yeah?" His frown lessened almost imperceptibly.

All she saw was his sternness and continued in her conciliatory tone, "Please, Jess. I swear I didn't come for that. I would never - -You don't deserve that. And I'm still glad I came."

"Huh." The slight jut of his chin was sharp when he said, "Me too then, I guess."

"I thought we could talk. More I mean. Generally." Twisted fingers twisting. "Be in touch, maybe. Just ... I don't know. Reconnect. As friends."

Still twisting, but no longer able to lock down her gaze.

"Okay," he breathed, shrugging minutely.

"Okay?"

A slight nod and the smile barely shaped itself on her mouth. Eyes, mainly. Lit brighter. Seeing contempt gone out in his.

But when she licked her lip the kiss came back. The phone weighted her hand.

He dragged a palm down his jaw and over his mouth. A weary, too-noisy breath let out like he'd been holding it.

"You gonna leave a message?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating:** T for some cursing.

**Disclaimer**: Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the WB/CW.

* * *

"No," she said. "I guess even he doesn't deserve that."

She folded her arms and sighed. Thumped her back against the wall beside the door.

Rubbing the back of his head absently, he moved to sit on the desk-edge that faced her, gripping where his hands fell.

"It is over though," she said, meeting his eye as he looked up on hearing her voice. "I'm done."

Another wordless nod from him sent her craning back to talk to the ceiling. "I don't know why I - -Why _did_ I?"

"I, uh, -"

"Fine, he was charming and smart, I guess. Exciting, maybe. But -"

"This -"

"- -But he's mean and childish and - -And unreliable. Or at least I can't trust him. Which is just - -I can't even ..." She broke off and shook her head, but then burst out, "And God! He's _so _self-pitying."

He was uncomfortable. More so when she turned her attention on him now. But he couldn't seem to cut her off.

"Seriously -" he tried.

"To hear him talk, you'd think he's getting fitted for valenki any day now. Like his life's somehow a gulag. I think it's really how he feels, you know? He's _that _deluded. I know people who'd kill **- - **commit actual homicide - - for the opportunities he has. Oh, and the ones he throws away, too. Can't forget those."

He was curious despite himself and raised an eyebrow. "A gulag?"

"Yep. Forced labor, forced life. Got to do what daddy says." Arms still folded, her shoulders climbed up round her ears. Dropped. "No. Actually, he's got to whine about it and then do it. Except the Hamlet act is officially worn out."

"I don't -"

"You've got to pity the poor heir apparent, though, haven't you? With no options? Because his name doesn't just open any damn door he wanted. And he can't tell Mitchum to go to hell because then what would he bitch about? I swear, the daddy issues are just - -Ugh."

"Right," he said with a hint of a rueful smile. "How are yours these days?"

She affected a weary kind of earnestness, replying with shrug, "Pretty bad, probably." Shuttled back the jibe in the same spirit, "Yours?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Same."

"But it doesn't define me," she said, truly earnest now. "I won't let it. I pushed the self-destruct button, and you know what? I got _so _bored of it. You were right: it wasn't me. And when I saw it I was mortified, and I pulled myself together. So thanks."

"Don't mention it," he said, sidelong and screwing his mouth up as he scratched a temple.

"But -"

"I mean it. You, uh ..." He caught part of his lower lip in his teeth. "You need to talk to your mom, maybe? Or to Lane, or ... whoever. Just ..."

Whitened knuckles unwhitening as he looked at them.

"Not you," she said.

"Not me." Chin still low on his chest. Lifted eyes.

Her mouth pressed into a flat smile. "Sorry."

"S'okay." Shrugged it off and cocked his head to one side to add wryly, "Not that I don't love hearing you bad-mouth the rich kids like we used to, but I just -"

"I know," she broke in. "Have I always been this insensitive? Maybe I have, I don't -"

"That's not it. It's ..." Deepening lines in the struggle. The corner of the room got a hard look.

"What?"

Waiting, she saw the breath. Heard it sighed out. Eyes dragged back to hers.

"No one likes getting all their flaws reflected back at them, Rory, you know? Ever think you got a type, maybe?"

"But," she looked puzzled, pausing. "You mean unreliable? Look at this place, Jess. You grew up. It's amazing. And you -"

He interrupted her with a look like he was straining to remember something. "Thought I had a nice sideline in self-pitying on and off there too. Don't forget _that_."

"You're exaggerating."

"Says the woman who coined the word 'cobainy' in my honor. You can't just take that away from me now. I was proud of that."

Grinning, she retorted, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you. That would be cruel. Clearly. But," growing more serious, she looked around them before fixing on him, "Jess, look what you've done. You had nothing. No one. You left everything behind, and you did _this_."

The frown came back as he listened, his narrowed eyes turning aside. Ducking slightly as he looked towards the back of the room. "The leaving stuff behind kind of accounts for the having nothing and no one though, you know?"

A second's glance back at her before her own eyes dropped.

"Oh," she said. "Yeah." Quiet now after her effusiveness. "But - -Well, you still did this. You dragged yourself up and pulled yourself together, and you _did_ this."

Meeting his eye. Seeing them mirthful as he said flatly, "On my own."

"On your own," she echoed, a smile changed to a firm pursed mouth that matched the firm nod.

He nodded along too, eyebrows climbing. "Single-handed, right? Nothing to do with those guys you met earlier." He shook his head. "They'll love hearing you say that."

"Fine, but you know what I mean. And your book! Come on, Jess, that's pretty single-handed. It could only be you."

She beamed to see his shy downward look. A snigger, still shaking his head. Then he saw her and rolled his eyes, scraping a thumbnail over a middle-finger callous.

"Still pretty mean though," he said looking back up at her. "In the interests of full disclosure."

"I don't doubt it," she brazened back. "I don't think you've changed -"

"Huh. Compliments're just flying 'round tonight."

She seemed to ignore him. "You grew up. _I _grew up. And I'm sick of ..."

Her sigh. His eyes on her as she pulled a stray thread from her sleeve.

"- -Being with someone who won't," she ended, half to herself as what she unpicked came free. Nothing unravelled as it dropped unseen.

Studying where the pattern had been altered almost indiscernibly for the loss of the light thread, she said, "He's arrested development made flesh, and I'm done with it," before turning to him. "Right now? He's jumping off a cliff in Costa Rica."

The force of suppression left its trace, but she had been too absorbed to notice, and now it was overlaid by something else. Still not inured, curiosity needled him again.

"Uh, why?"

"Acting out," she said matter-of-factly. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with skydiving or whatever. It looks cool. And _terrifying_. But I'd like to think I'm not a chicken and I'll do it before I die maybe. Maybe _right_ before, like, splat. But I know I probably won't - -Skydive, I mean. Not die. I'm going to die, I know that. But I'm going to try really hard not to. Except for the being-in-a-warzone thing, anyway - -What was I -?"

"Something about Costa Rica." It sounded tired in the wake of her burst of rambling energy.

"Right, yes. So, there's nothing wrong with thrill-seeking, really. I'm okay with that. I like that, even. Occasionally. Personally, I'm a rollercoaster person - -But you probably ..."

The look she saw on him said he did.

_Remember_.

"But it's not even real Life and Death Brigade stuff any more," she continued. Fast to skip over the pause, eyes darting to peer at the chaos in the artwork hung behind him. "Those things were crazy, but at least they were well-planned. And this? This is just irresponsible and stupid and - -And attention-seeking."

"I don't want to know," he said, wearily folding his arms and looking vaguely disgusted, "what this thing is, do I."

It wasn't a question.

"The Life and Death Brigade? It's just a secret ... Yale," she floundered, hearing it sound ridiculous, "... thing."

Blank-faced, head cocking pointedly, he dropped, "Man, clichéd much?"

"Yeah, but it was fun at first -"

"Wait, you -?"

"Don't judge me," she cut in, tilting up her chin to approximate queenly defiance. "I did it for a story. And all I did was jump off a scaffold in a ball gown."

Her grin broke the mask.

"Well now I'm intrigued, I gotta admit," he said, unfolding his arms to grip the table-edge once more. Leaning forward conspiratorially he asked, "Did you die? Am I talking to myself here? I've gone nuts, I knew it. Day was fucking surreal." A dismissive hand swiped it away.

"I didn't die: I had a harness. And it was pretty fun," she said squarely.

"Yeah, guess I'll allow it."

"You allow things to happen in the past, oh Great and Powerful Oz?"

"I do. Control space and time, too. Mainly Saturdays."

"Well, of course."

She smiled but the phone was still in her hand. Heavy.

"But I'm through with all of that now," she affirmed, not knowing why she needed to say it. To draw a line under it.

_There_. Between them.

"What, fun?"

"No, stupid stunts and wasting my life drinking and partying and ... just all of it. I told you I'm trying to graduate in my year and make up time, right?"

"Right. Ms. Conscientious."

"So I'm working my ass off and he's ... he's _there_ and goofing off and being - -It's _so_ irritating, you know? But it's not that. It's worse than that, I ... I'm wasting all this energy just -"

She stopped with a sudden wide-eyed look.

"Oh God, I think I'm _hating_ him."

Jess bit the inside of his cheek as she pulled a palm slowly across her forehead.

"But I can't help it," she said with a shrug. "I just - -I hate it. I hate feeling like this. I don't _want_ to feel like this. It's - -I feel awful. So that's it. I'm through."

"I should have done it before," she continued quickly. Pacing now. Shaking her head. "It's distracting. And I don't need distraction. I need focus and - -Yes, _focus_. And if I can trust myself and that's it, then that's enough. So I'm through."

"Very Plath," glibly covered his confusion.

Ache of set teeth unset. Of being drawn in by inches.

She looked at him then, coming out of her abstraction. "More daddy issues."

"Yeah. But you're ..." His fingers spiked up at the desk-edge. "Focused, though. Right?"

"I am," she nodded out firmly. "I shouldn't have let it - -I should have made it stick the first time. I had everything together, and I did it by myself. I would have been fine on my own - -Well, with Paris. But I was back on track and then -"

She pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing her eyes shut. "I'm such an idiot."

He rolled his eyes at this, offering in a low, still weary voice, "You're not an idiot."

She bit down behind her lips, and he sent a hand out towards where, outside, the street darkened.

"Look," he said, "all that stuff you talked about today, I don't know. Sounded like you had it all figured out now, so ..."

"Yeah, I do. I did. But I did then too, so I just wish ..." She sighed. "We broke up. Before now, I mean."

And she held out the phone towards him, wiggling it in the air as if by way of illustration. She wasn't making much sense, but he watched her intent on cramming it back into her pocket as she started to speak again.

"In fact, right after you left the pub that night. I was mortified," she added, catching his eye. "Like I said. About wasting my life and the way he treated you and ... just everything you said."

A broad smile lit her up as she sped though a narration of the night's events. "And I just let rip at him for being an ass and a godawful snob and _of course_ he wouldn't apologise and started the whole 'woe is me' bit instead - -So I called him on it. I finally called him on it, and let me tell you he _hated_ it. And that was it. I moved out of my grandparents and in with Paris -"

"Jeez, that's drastic."

"Drastic was necessary. You saw for yourself."

"Yeah, but ... Paris-scale drastic? I mean, that's some mea culpa, right there."

"Well, it was that or self-flagellation. And I'm not all that into that."

Her look of suppressed amusement elicited one from him.

"Huh."

"And fine, there were steps in-between but, yes, I settled on drastic. Or actually, it settled on me, but - -Anyway, I should have just broken it off then."

"I thought you said -"

"Nope. Not on _my _end."

"Okay," he nodded acceptingly. Still confused. Still frowning. Waiting.

"He, um," she paused and her eyes dropped to the toes of her shoes. But she bit her thumb and looked up, saying firmly, "He cheated."

His eyes widened and he was open-mouthed for a split second before biting down on his lower lip and pulling it into his mouth.

They were both surprised when she smiled to add, "Except, not technically, apparently. And I can't even look at him. But what's great is, now, I know I pretty much never have to again."

Her smile brightened and left him bemused and silent, unconscious of the pained look that biting his mouth gave him.

"Yep," she resumed. "A whole _Friends _episode I can never have on in the background again. Because it's not something you actually _watch _anymore, you know? It's just ... _there._ Or arc, I guess. A story arc."

Her levity, the digressive pedantry, made him uneasy, though it formed an equally uneasy smile in one corner of his mouth. Head still bowed a fraction, he looked up at her curiously.

Seeing this and smiling more herself, she said, "The One with all the Bridesmaids. Am I laughing? I want to laugh."

"Nope. But -" He straightened and pulled his shoulder-blades together to stretch. He was frowning again when he asked, "You're serious? You're not actually serious."

"_All _the bridesmaids. All the _sister's _bridesmaids. Hell, maybe even a groomsman snuck in there and he was too busy to notice. Not that it happened at the wedding, but ..." She shrugged and broke off with something like a silent laugh.

"Rory, that's -" His jaw clenched as he shook his head. "What a shit-heel."

She did finally laugh at this.

His thunderous look cleared up too, watching her scrub at her face and push herself off the wall.

"Ugh," she said as she dropped heavily into the chair to his left. "God, it's good to laugh."

"Well, good."

Head hanging, she rubbed her temples and said to the floor, "I never should have taken him back. It's been bugging me so much, I just - -It made me sick. Actually put me off my food." Looking up at him, she said, "Can you believe that?"

He smirked. "If I say no, are you gonna kick me? 'Cause my shins are in your range, I think."

She swung a leg weakly and concluded, "Nope, too far. Well, it did. And my work, and my reading, and just," she paused again, exhaling. "But this was great. Being here and ... and venting - -God I'm sorry I vented to you, Jess. I'm so sorry."

Shrugging, he said, "Looks like I can take it after all."

"Sorry though."

"Yeah, I'll live."

"Good."

Her smile, small with contrition still, drew a fractured reflection out of the smirk until he turned to look back into the room.

Wreckage of strewn books and souring wine. Thinking. His shoulders rose and rolled in a contained stretch before he turned to her again.

"So, look. You want another drink or something?"

"I haven't had one yet. I drove."

"Ah," he drew out. "You need to get back?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Not really."

"No?"

Shrugging, she said, "I should be at the paper in the afternoon, but I don't have class."

"Then," he tilted his chin up in a half-nod, "have something. If you want. Crash here, maybe. You look like you need it."

"So, you don't technically want me to fuck off anymore?"

"Nah, you're good for now," he replied, matching her mock-serious look and adding, "We could, you know, talk or whatever. If you want."

"Okay, yeah. We should. Catch up more."

"Yeah, that too. You're not beat?"

"No, I'm not. I should be though, shouldn't I?"

"I don't think there's a rule," he said offhand. "Uh, we don't technically have a guest bed, but we do have a couch. It's not bad."

"I could get a room though, maybe?" Uncertainty stretched the pause. "Somewhere."

He got up at this, standing straight as if affronted and needling her, "Quit waving your trust fund in my face, Rory, jeez. Unless the accommodation here's so far below your standards?"

She choked back a laugh to say, "Yeah, one thing? I technically don't get my trust fund 'til I'm twenty five."

"Right, right," he said, nodding, his hands in his pockets. "Guess I better get on that 'being your friend' thing then."

"That's nice, Jess. When did you become a hanger-on, anyway?"

"Hey, I hang where I can, what can I say?"

"And my appartment door," she backtracked to correct him with another detail, "- -If Paris'll have me back -"

"You _are_ a masochist," he interjected, but she made a face and carried on.

"My door there has a dozen locks because there's a shady _non_-musical group who congregate at the bottom of my stairs."

"Huh. Sounds nice," he said blandly, wandering into the centre of the room towards the desk cluttered with the day's leftover alcohol. "So, drink?"

She pushed herself up out of the chair and stretched her hands above her head, lacing her fingers together as she said, "Anything. Whatever," and followed him.

He gestured at bottles which were no longer condensating on the wood but instead stood in shallow puddles slowly merging. "Beer? Wine? Narrowing's good."

"What do you have most of?"

He reached out, saying, "Beer it is," his hand hovering as he tried to pick two cooler-looking bottles. "Wait though," he said, turning to point at her and looking amused. "You're jonesing by now, right?"

"I'm that predictable?"

"If I say yes -"

She cut him off, a little sheepish as she added, "And, if I'm honest, I'm starving."

"Of course." His irony was not so much in the trace of a smirk as in the unquestioning acceptance of what she said. It made her smile. "So, you want to go out, or should I order in?"

"Shouldn't you be at a bar? I heard something about a bar."

Thoughtful, as if he tipped his head to search a corner of his mind, he replied, "Thursday? Gotta 'y' in it, so yeah. Probably."

She rolled her eyes, persisting, "Should you? I don't want -"

"Rory, they get drunk without me about as quickly as when I'm there. Cast-iron science. It's no big deal."

"But ... your open house. It was great. Don't you want to celebrate?"

"Yeah, streamers make me nervous. Balloons, too. Seriously, we're there pretty often. And the schmoozing'll have transitioned into the unprofessional 'I love you, man' stuff," he paused and conspicuously checked his watch, "about forty minutes ago."

"And you are nothing if not the consummate professional."

"Exactly. So, drink that," he said, handing her a beer, "and I'll brew coffee. And you: get on deciding what you want to eat. Unless you have something against drinking warm beer and hot coffee on an empty stomach?"

"As long as it's not empty for long."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Self-preservation?"

"Pretty much. So. Coming up?" He jerked his head in the direction of the stairs.

"If that's where the coffee is."

He straightened and flicked his wrist to sketch a tiny arc. _After you._

She smiled as she passed him and started up the stairs, not seeing him stop on the first step and look up as she ascended. His fingers tight on the banister's newel post.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for reading. The final two parts are finished, (read: proofing, freaking out, proofing ...) so more in a couple of days if there's any interest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary**: A kiss and a book. His book. Between her palms. Time telescoped by living memory. Rory's conscience pricks at Truncheon, but time never stands still; things change. AU The Real Paul Anka.

******Rating: T **for the teensiest bit of cursing.

**Disclaimer**: Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the WB/CW.

* * *

"... and we're _not _calling it Cedar Bar Redux."

"No fair, I want to own a bar."

He rolled his beer between his palms, propped forward at the couch-edge with forearms rested on wide-spread knees. She had thrust herself in a deep corner of the over-sized couch and lolled her head back waiting for coffee to revive her. Beatific when he described the deep-fried chicken Peking-style that was delivered in their order thirty minutes later. She stripped off her jacket to eat and had since edged forward, turning to sit at right-angles to him, her back against the armrest and bare feet tucked under crossed legs.

"You mean you want to worry about mortgage payments on said bar and pray the college students don't just nurse a latte for eight hours using your wireless internet access."

"Let me in on the ground floor? Please, Jess. I'll be a silent partner, I promise."

"Silent meaning passed out on the tiles? I think I'll have two of them already, thanks. Although it's probably the only time you are. Silent, I mean."

"Hey! I stopped the passing out thing shortly after I gave up stealing yachts."

He gave her a searching look, pulling back a little as he surveyed her. "You don't look like a felon."

She rolled her eyes, retorting, "Neither do you. Now."

"Appearances, huh?"

"Hmm, aren't they? And I'm quiet when I read," she added defensively, trying to compose her face to match.

"True. Until you're like, 'Oh my god, you've got to listen to this.' Or -" frowning down at his open palm, "'-this isn't iambic pentameter.' And don't forget, 'Jess, this is _painful_. Make it stop.'"

"I was pretty hard on Papa," she conceded through her laughter. He hadn't even attempted to mimic her voice.

"For shame."

"I'm not _now_."

"You reformed?"

"Yep," she said with a brisk nod. "Mended my ways."

"Good. He'll be pleased, I'm sure."

"Posthumously pleased?"

He shrugged. "Hey, a reader's a reader. You take what you can."

"I guess. Was I really that annoying?"

"Not much."

"Ah," she replied with a smile, "but what is much?"

His eyebrow shot up and he mouthed almost inaudibly, "What?" before his head dropped level with shoulders that shook with silent laughter. With a sidelong look he managed, "That is just ..."

"What, that I remember? Is that weird? I didn't mean -"

"Relax. It's funny, is all." And, about to tip back the bottle held near his lips, out of the corner of his eye he saw that she did. Smile returning as she uncoiled. "Not that anything coming out of your mouth should shock me after today, but ..."

Provoked toes prodded at his thigh as she said, "Don't tell me you didn't mean to leave an impression either."

"Huh. Marginal scrawl counts as making an impression now?"

"Are you kidding? It was doubly impressive."

He fixed her with an inscrutable look. "Huh."

Shamefaced, she said, "Sorry. Puns have left the building." Swept a hand towards the door.

"Great."

"Do you still do tricks, though?"

Enigmatic again. Deliberately. "Don't know. Got a quarter?"

"Sorry. Not even for old time's sake."

"No? That's disappointing."

"Yeah, that face is familiar, too."

She followed his cue and sipped her beer, Cheshire cat-like as she disappeared behind the bottle and the grin. Watching him slowly shake his head at her. At her words. The trip into their past.

"So," she tendered, "Lane's getting married next Saturday."

"No way. Who to?"

"Zach."

"Zach?"

"From the band."

"_Her _band? Wait, wasn't she with ... uh -" he blanked.

"Dave?" she supplied.

"Right. So?"

"He went to Stanford after that summer."

"Oh," dropped quietly.

"You never ran into him?" she joked over the bottle's lip.

"Uh, it's a pretty spacious state."

"Well, it's not impossible."

"Guess not."

He looked away but nodded, and her mouth ran away with her in the vacuum. "I want to hear all about it though one day. About when you were there. _Not _meeting Dave."

Eyes darted up at her and she added quickly, "Unless it's -"

The shrug cut her short. "If you want," he said. Not quite readable. Not quite relaxed. "Later, maybe."

"Later's fine," she breathed.

He returned to Lane, genuinely curious, asking, "So, she didn't get, like, auctioned off or whatever?"

"No. Mrs Kim's on board even."

"Good."

"In fact," she continued casually, "the trial by ordeal went so well Zach wants her as a full-time writing partner. Which of course Lane's convinced is proof of a beneficent god who's also seriously twisted, and I'm pretty sure just confirms we've slipped into an alternate reality."

Jess was studiedly unfazed. "Right. So this guy's the ...?"

"Surviving guitarist and lead singer," she finished for him.

Brows knitted as he drew in his chin. "So, the guy who hit on your mom? Pretentious-band-name guy?"

She gaped. "God, I forgot about that."

"Has Lane?"

"I ... I don't know. But I am _not _going to remind her."

"Probably for the best."

"Yeah," she said and chafed a palm against her forehead. "I wish I could repress that again though."

"Sorry," he said, not looking it.

She shook her head. "I can't believe I forgot that. I mean, you whistled 'Mrs Robinson' every time she came in the diner that week. She was so mad."

He swallowed the mouthful of beer quickly to protest, "Totally unrelated, I swear. Blame the Lemonheads."

"I did play that cover on repeat all night. About a hundred times."

"See? Your fault. You programmed me, Dr. Branom."

"Jess Mariano: ever the hapless ..."

She broke off and bit her lip. He smirked. "Hapless what, exactly?"

"What? Oh. Dupe. I was going to say dupe."

He noticed she was somewhere else and, after a pause, there was concern in his voice when he asked, "Something the matter?"

"Oh ... no. Nothing, just ... remembered something."

"More return of the repressed? What did I -"

"No. It's a Korean-wedding thing. Dammit," she said, pressing the pad of her thumb to her lips and frowning as she shoved herself back a little in her seat.

"I'm an idiot in suspense here, Rory."

"Um, things have - -After today ..." She sighed and tried again, "You can't go alone because - -Well, just because. And, yes, it's weird so don't say anything."

"Still not following," he said, resting his cheek on his knuckles to look round at her.

She huffed and set herself to explain, "You have to have a date. I'm going to have to ask Brian or something. Unless I don't count as a woman of a certain age - -And you're still not allowed to say anything."

"Okay, glossing over that and the 'can't go alone thing' because it's just ... whatever. But Brian was the bassist, right? Like if Harry Potter got Stretch-Armstronged?"

"Yep. He's sweet. And he's the best man, so as maid of honour I think I can guilt him into taking me. Hopefully, anyway. There's no way I'm missing it."

"I reckon your chances are okay. And I guess there's always a fallback. Lane invited Kirk, right? There's always Kirk."

She made a face in retort to the devilish deadpan look he gave her. "That's where you're wrong. So, so wrong. And _mean_**. **But I'll let you off because you're so out of the loop, and I am going to love your face when I tell you this."

"Oh yeah? Why? He come out or something? His mom was -"

"Nope. He has a girlfriend. And that's the face. Oh, you should see it!"

"Bullshit," he said with disgust.

She nodded, grinning at his discomfort. "Uh-huh."

"Get out. Seriously?"

"Lulu. She teaches third grade, and she's so cute."

"And certifiable. You'd think there'd be screening or -"

"They're adorable."

"Not buying it. Sorry."

"Wait a sec then, and prepare to eat your words because ..." She flourished her phone from her pocket and ended, "I have proof."

"See, the flaw here is I don't want to get proved wrong," he said as she sidled up closer to him and called up her pictures. "Really. I'll sleep better without - -What did you _do_?"

"Oh yeah. That's you."

"Rory! You can't just - -When'd you take that?" Impish, she shrugged. Exasperating. "You're s'posed to ask to take someone's picture, you know that, right?"

"Allow me to introduce you to the concept of the candid photo."

"Christ, I look like a dick."

Grinning for so long now it was hurting. "Serious, businesslike Jess conducts serious business." Worse because it was infuriating him.

"Jeez. I can still throw you out of here, you know. You're on thin - -No _way_."

"That's you too. Cute. See? In your element."

"Your ethics suck, Rory, seriously. You're deleting that."

"Because you look happy?"

"Because I look fucking ... dumb."

"Nope. Cute. And happy. These are keepers. You want copies for your website or whatever?"

"I _will _have deleted these before you leave. You won't know it, but they will be _gone_."

"Then I better forward them to my mom. Just in case."

"No fucking way. You do and -"

"Then promise. I just - -For the memories, you know? Of today."

He sighed. "Fine. But if I find out you're showing these around," he warned, wagging a finger at her, "Luke? Your mom? Anyone. You _will _pay. Alright? That's a promise."

"Okay, then I promise too. I forgot you were so weird about it."

He looked hard at her. "I'm not weird about it. I don't _like _it."

"So different. I'm lucky I've got any at all, I guess."

He was about to drink but stopped in consternation. "Any what? Pictures? Bull. You don't." He tipped the bottle to point at her and said, "You're messing with me, and it's not going to work."

"I'm not, and I have."

"That's crap," he maintained and drank, adding afterwards, "You're not getting to me. There's no way."

"Well, believe me, don't believe me. I have them anyway."

"You lie."

"No, sorry. They're fuzzy and underexposed, but I've got 'em. Somewhere." Noticing a finger-smear on the bottle, she worried at it, her volume dropping.

"Okay, hypothetically - -'Cause I don't believe you, by the way, but hypothetically. How come? I mean, I don't. We never ... uh ..."

"No," she said, "We didn't," interceding like the less-exhausted swimmer of two caught in an undertow. "But Mom got Digital Dan that year, remember?"

"Wh -? What?"

"Her first digital camera. For her birthday."

"Oh, jeez. The pizza thing."

"Yes! Our smallest biggest pizza ever. And it was pretty dark so they're grainy. But Mom snapped you a couple of times in the diner, too. They're better. Except for your puss, that is," she said, laughing and framing him with her fingers.

Her mild insult washed over him as he threw his head back and exclaimed, "Oh Christ, I must've blanked that out. She never put that damn thing down. Brought it in for, like, a week straight."

The anguished look he threw her as he remembered dissolved her into more laughter and she fought unsuccessfully to stifle it as she said, "Luke though. He stopped serving her, remember? Hit her where it hurts."

"In the stomach," he said, not managing the sardonic tone because her almost incoherent mirth fed his. Memory of Luke's attempted sternness; Lorelai's wounded protest. One of many.

"Said he quit," she gasped, "As her dealer because - -Something about flashing him and - -Was it make-up? There was a threat of - -No! Vaseline. It -" Her hand over her mouth, she muffled out, "It was Vaseline."

Each susceptible to the other's heightened mood, he couldn't help himself either. Defenceless against her like that. Sounds remembered but not heard for so long.

"Right," he recalled. "God, did she ever whine that day."

"Yeah, but just for a day. And poor Digital Dan never saw the diner again."

"And the staff lived happily ever after."

"Grumpily, surly ever after."

"That too. But -" He scratched the back of his head and drew breath as they got calmer. "I don't remember you taking pictures that night."

"You are totally unfamiliar with the concept of candid aren't you? How's that possible?"

"Oh, so Stealth-Rory the Unethical was honing her skills way back?"

"Way, way back."

"Perfect."

"It was hard, believe me. I remember there was so much going on, and I kept trying to get away, but ... I think I - -I hardly saw you."

The hesitancy and the enquiring look were regretful rather than reproachful, so he conjured up a smirk to say, "Yeah, and I'd've been mad at you for begging me to go along to that thing then ditching me with Luke except (a) I'm not dumb and I knew - - know now, actually, - - your mom's _so _high maintenance when it comes to getting your attention - -And don't gimme that look 'cause you know it."

"Fine," she said and closed her mouth on the redundant protest.

"Hey, she had an excuse, at least, right? And (b), if I'm honest, the appearance I put in was more like a cameo, so -" He shrugged and shifted back to take more of her in, pointing at her as he said, "But you're telling me about these imaginary pictures you hypothetically have, and _fast _'cause I gotta know what I'm dealing with here. Like whether I'm getting Luke to pull a _Mission Impossible_ in your mom's attic, maybe."

She chuckled at his exaggerated earnestness and said, "First off, there's no way I can pass up the opportunity to say that Luke is your own personal Man from UNCLE. But why're you acting like there's going to be a scandal in Bohemia, anyway?"

"Figure I'd be less concerned if Ms Adler here'd quit stalling."

"Okay, okay. Well, you're listening to Luke talk and looking bored in one, and in the other you're getting pizza. Scowling."

"Huh."

"Still, at least I got them before you slunk off to the diner. Where I found you with a beer, I might add."

"Me? No." The transparently feigned innocence made her grin.

"So who was that up there reading García Márquez, picking olives off a stack of stolen pizza?"

"Maybe your photos are of someone else, huh?"

"I hope not," she said, but her smile faded. "You were miserable."

"Nah," he replied, shaking his head. He looked sincere. "Just steering clear of the hoopla."

"Hated balloons back then, too?"

"Streamers. It's mainly the streamers."

"Right."

He caught her wistful look and nudged her elbow with his when he said, "It was cool though. What you did. Your mom was stoked. Or wasted maybe, 'cause she said, 'Glad you made it', or something? It didn't make a lot of sense."

She smiled then, and he added, "Drove me crazy for a month and a half when you were trying to put it all together, but -"

"Shut up," she said, jolting him with her shoulder.

"Come on, you did. But it was quite the blow out, I gotta admit."

"It was," she replied, happy but abashed by the unexpected compliment. "Thanks."

She looked thoughtful though, tapping the green glass with a fingernail, and after a moment said quietly, "I missed all yours."

"My what?"

"Birthdays. It's just over a month away now, isn't it?"

He nodded and avoided her gaze, but she didn't notice and continued, "Hmm. I need to work fast. And I'm going to need to look at your books."

"Okay, but -"

"Because I don't want to get you doubles of stuff," she said, getting up and waiting for him to do the same, "and you probably have everything by now. Or at least all the stuff I ever I looked at and thought you'd like, so -"

"Okay, stop, 'cause now I see where this is going, so don't, alright? It's -"

She looked crestfallen. "But -"

"I mean, I appreciate it. The, uh, - -You're -"

"I would have just mailed it, probably. I just thought - -I wasn't going to, like, crash your -"

"That's not it," he said, looking grave and shaking his head. "It's just, you don't have to, okay? It's not -"

"But I wanted to. I _want_ to. I owe you one at least, plus this one."

He looked amused now, turning the subject aside to observe, "Okay, you're officially cracked, and the power of attorney'll stop you shopping, so it's fine."

"And why am I crazy, Dr. Phil?"

"How long have you got?"

Pointedly, she retook her seat, answering, "A while," before picking up her beer and adding, "Unless you're reneging on the whole kicking me out thing."

He was incredulous but sounded almost firm when he said, "You don't owe me, Rory."

"Well, for bawling me out then at -"

"You're nuts," he said, lightening a little but his brow still contracted. "And if it's a thing now to give gifts for yelling, I'm out a lot of money. Or maybe owed a lot, who knows?"

"I think it might be productive yelling only."

"In that case, I guess I'm not far off the black."

"No," she corrected, "you're in credit with me."

He shook his head and drained his beer, then stood and went to reach out more from the refrigerator. After handing her one, he threw himself down on the couch with a sigh that sounded loud to her.

She looked round from her seat at the edge, but he stared down at the beer cradled in his hands, edging a thumbnail under its label carefully.

He started, "You ... if anything -"

"Don't, Jess."

"Huh," he said, his sombre look shading into mimicked perplexity as he held the bottle further away in one hand and narrowed his eyes to look hard at it. "Beer, not gin, right?"

"Right," she assented, but an uncertain smile came with the uncertain nod.

"Then, to beer," he said with a raised eyebrow, holding the bottle towards her with a lax arm.

The clink of glass was muted. Barely a touch of bottle-neck and bottle-lip. She pressed her mouth into more of a smile.

"To birthdays," she appended, looking brighter and watching him drink.

He smirked at this. "To being in credit."

She spluttered mid-swig, and he laughed as she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. With a quick gasp she retorted, "To what's owed, then."

He took another, longer draught. Closed eyes opened on the ceiling as he swallowed.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for reading and reviewing. The final part's coming up soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary**: A kiss and a book. His book. Between her palms. Time telescoped by living memory. Rory's conscience pricks at Truncheon, but time never stands still; things change. AU The Real Paul Anka.

**Rating: T **for some cursing.

**Disclaimer**: Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the WB/CW.

* * *

Later, he stood and said, "So, I'm gonna go make your bed."

"What? No! Jess, I'll take the couch."

"I'm wounded you think I'd let Rory Leigh Gilmore sleep on a couch -"

"But -"

"- -In the common area of a shared apartment -"

"So?"

"- -An apartment shared by guys."

"Well - "

"Hey, you want to? Be my guest," he said, gesturing along the length of the couch where she sat. "Go right ahead and scream if Matthew sleepwalks at you."

"It's fine, Jess. I'm a big girl."

"You are taller," he said, cocking his head to squint at her. "When'd that happen?"

She rolled her eyes. "Last week."

"Right," he said, drawing out the word as he turned away and left her sitting.

"Jess -"

"Not happening." Dismissing her with a hand flapped as he passed into the door of his room.

She raised her voice to ask, "Can I help at least?"

"Got it covered," he called back.

Her phone lay forgotten on the coffee-table, walled in by mostly-empty take-out cartons with their spikes of abandoned chopsticks. She resisted picking through the pile of paperbacks beside the couch but instead slid a mug-ringed copy of last month's 'zine out from underneath a cheap lighter, turning to a dog-eared page to read Chris's rave-review of a band she'd never heard of.

What stood out most though was the swirl of a black biro-ink loop three-quarters down in the text. At the head of the page, a handwritten word had been determinedly struck through in a thicker pen, but it was at once still legible and familiar.

_Counterpoint._

Apparently, Chris thought the line-up delivered on the considerable buzz that had built since the date was announced. At an otherwise great gig, only a lackluster set by the third act was disappointing. And even that "wasn't a total letdown."

But there was the dissenting annotation. Two words redeployed against the rest by the offhand elliptical sweep.

So Rory knew Jess's exacting standards hadn't fallen. Knew his opinion on the whole night.

Presumably, so did the owner of the thicker pen.

A glob of poster-tack had welded itself onto the table's corner amid seventeen cents and a button; gray. No ashtray. She unearthed a rival publication - _Pulp This _- and beneath it, a pack of cards in a tattered, flapless box. Seemingly nothing was safe from being made a coaster.

Her acts of archaeological curation ended at the sound of a door reopening. Closing. She dropped her finds back into their haphazard layers, listening as Jess re-entered the room and told her, "Had about fifteen years of practice now, give or take."

As if twelve minutes hadn't passed.

Slumping back beside her, he laced fingers behind his head. "Thinking of turning pro, maybe."

"Cool. I'll want tickets."

"I'll let you know."

"Good," she said, reaching for one of the last survivors in their double order of spring rolls. "Because if it's a pom-pom kind of thing, I turned mine in to Miss Patty when I was eight, so I'll have to borrow Lane's."

Straightfaced, he demurred, "Yeah, it's really not a pom-pom kind of thing."

"But I can make a placard or something? What about 'Go! Go! Ma-Ri-A-No'? You know, phonetically."

"Huh. And you say this editor of yours won't let you write?"

"Oh, she's a smart one alright. But you're the novelist: you come up with something."

"Sure. I pretty much delete commas and order toner for a living, but I'll get right on that."

She was finishing the bite she'd taken, but the remaining half of the spring roll was jabbed animatedly in his direction before she trained a sharp look on him and said, "Don't make me go looking for this 'something, maybe' you may or may not be working on, because you already know my ethics are shaky, and I'm telling you now, I'm Alice-level curious."

Her forefinger touched the corner of her mouth for a phantom crumb as she ended, "You're a writer, Jess. A great one."

The uptick of a smile was there and she caught it, though anyone else would've been hard pressed to decipher it. Wrong to guess at irritation.

"Thought you said you turned in those pom-poms?" he said, letting one hand fall and scruffing through his hair with the other.

Her mouth was too full to reply, so he went uninterrupted. "And you won't find it by the way, so go ahead and knock yourself out."

"Come on, you know I wouldn't really do that," she said when she was able to speak. "I guess I can wait. Good things and all that, right?"

"So they say," he replied with a shrug.

Not awkward, but still a pause. Maybe she looked away first as she took up her beer again. Maybe he did, glancing past her to the closed door that led downstairs. In any event, he roused himself and sat forward.

"So," he said, and caught her eye before stating evenly, "Luke and your mom."

"Yep." Unusually laconic. Like a weight closed her mouth. At the corners as she lifted them.

"How is that?"

"Oh, you know ... they're good."

"Yeah, try again. Thought they set a date?"

"June 3rd. Postponed, though."

"Huh. He didn't say."

"No?"

"No. So, uh, what's ...?" He trailed off with a quizzical look.

"I, um, I probably - -There are mommy-daughter rules and stuff. You know."

"Well if there's a code involved..." Palms up pantomimed submission. It didn't wholly efface the concerned expression.

"Yeah, so." A shrug. An apologetic smile.

"So how's -"

"It's bad," she broke in and it poured out, defeating his attempt to change the subject. "I mean, it _was _good, but now -"

"Hey, don't incur Lorelai's mom-wrath for my idle curiosity."

"Well, then I'll just give you my impression. No insider details."

He shrugged. "If you want. So, why bad?"

"April."

"April's bad?"

"No, she's nice. But I just met her so - -No, I'm pretty sure she's not bad."

"Okay. So she and Lorelai don't -"

"Haven't met. Technically."

"No way. Why not?"

"Luke's just -"

"Jeez," fell under his breath. That eye-roll.

"He wants to bond with April, which, obviously, is fine. I mean, that's absolutely what he should be doing, right?"

Jess nodded, frowning. Expectant of the real issue.

Rory continued, "But why keep Mom off to one side? I know it must be hard for him, and it must have been just ... a total shock. That, I get. Really. But the compartmentalizing can't go on forever, can it? And what's he worried about? I don't - -It doesn't make sense, and it's been a while now, and it looks like he's stalling or something. After all this time - -And stalling now is just ... I don't know."

She watched for his reaction. Waited as he took in what she'd said. He was still frowning when he finally offered, "Compartmentalizing Lorelai is just ... bad." Rory nodded. "And you don't know why?"

She shook her head. "Not a clue."

"D'you think he even knows she's gotta hate that? Man, he's fucking clueless, still."

"What makes you think she hates it?"

"Being in some holding pattern while he gets his shit together? She hated being on hold _on the phone_ for Christ's sake. And it's not as if they haven't been dancing round this thing like morons for years."

"True and true."

"Didn't she propose, anyway? Waiting now's gonna feel like - -I don't know, like he's lost his nerve or something."

"Don't say that, he can't. He can't have."

"Maybe not, but..." He shrugged, leaving it unfinished.

She bit her thumbnail, tapping the bottle-lip against her knuckles.

"What about you?" he asked after a few moments. "I mean, before, your mom and dad were kind of - "

"Holding pattern? Yeah. I think I let that go a while back, maybe. I don't know. I want her to be happy."

He nodded and she began again, "And Luke always was, you know, kind of - -He was great." Looking up from the beer in her hands, she met his eye. "To me. And they _can _be happy. I know it. They could be great together. Anyone can see that, can't they?"

He nodded still, drawing the corner of his mouth up into a fraction of a smile. She saw it and drained her drink. Setting it empty on the coffee-table, she twisted towards him, hunching herself at the cushion-edge like him, her chin on clasped hands when she spoke again.

"Why is it so hard?"

He shrugged and set down his own bottle, but rather than see his hands dangle uselessly between his knees, he inspected the calloused finger and rubbed it, abstracted.

Her gaze on him still, turning his low-hanging head to meet it. Their knees touching first and her hand following it. Soft on his leg like an apology for the spark. She dipped and he straightened slightly, her lower lip brushing his and his mouth responding as if hers had said, _open_.

Her touch lighted on his shoulders and he turned towards her instinctively, though she hadn't pulled him round and didn't linger, but instead rushed fingers into his hair. His hands more slowly made their way to feel for her waist and fasten on it before snaking round. Making her shift as he clutched her closer. A hand flat between her shoulder-blades. Firm enough to make her lean against it and bring him down gradually over her.

...

She had pushed at the jacket, and he'd shrugged it off and cast it backwards, lowering fast again as her hands climbed up his shirt towards his chest. She drew them down his sides. Slid spread fingers up his back. Muscles straining under her touch on skin that moved against them and shifted under her palms. His breath, ragged on her neck where he pulled aside the collar to get more of her to kiss, made hers shorter. Harder to catch. Like she was chasing the sound of his and couldn't stop because it moved her.

...

Fingers on her fly, he looked at these and not at her when he said, "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

At that, he fixed on eyes that stared up at him.

"I meant -"

"I know what you meant."

Still lingered. "Tell me you won't regret this." His undertone was soft, but it was still a demand.

"I won't," she said, reaching to hold his face between her hands. "I promise."

But he looked and sounded fierce as he said, "Say you're not gonna go back to him."

"What? That's - -Why would I?"

He extricated his arm from beneath her and sat back on his haunches. "You won't cave and give it another shot?"

"That's not what I want. He had his shot, Jess. More than one."

"So did we."

"But we didn't. We had a chance maybe, but this - -This is our shot. If we want it. Don't you want it to be?"

"Semantics, Rory? Really?"

"We were teenagers, for god's sake," she said, shifting to prop herself on her elbows and sit up slightly. "What kind of a chance is that? You don't think we deserve this now?"

"This can't be about 'what if,' Rory. That's just fucking stupid. Suicidal."

"God! It's not about 'what if,' Jess. It's not about before. We have something, don't we?"

"Fuck, 'course we do," he said, looking up at the ceiling, exasperated. "But -"

"So what we have," she interrupted. "What we can make it, maybe. To be happy and be us. Be together. You'd be okay letting that just ... just -"

Vehement, he cut her off. "No! I want that. You're not sure that I _want _that? After everything and today and you still don't _know_?"

"Okay, so?"

"I don't know. It's just ..."

He paused and she snapped out, "Just what, Jess? If you need this much convincing, maybe it's not right."

He frowned hard down at her. "Convincing? That's rich. You don't think I deserve to know where I stand? I'm putting it all out there again, Rory, you know? It's a big fucking deal, okay?"

"And it's not to me? I'm not on the rebound, Jess," she said more softly as she took his hands, interlacing their fingers before resting them back on his knees. "It's not a 'what if' or ... or a one-night stand. I want this to work. I want us to take our shot."

"That's it though. One shot. We're fucked after this if -"

"If we don't work? Sure. You're probably right. But we're pretty messed up anyway, aren't we? Already? It is what it is between us, Jess. That's not going to go away."

"Yeah, but this?" He shook his head. "This is something else. There's no ... - -This would be worse."

Her tone rose but she kept hold of his hands. Tighter. Jolting them on his knees when she shrugged to say, "So, we're just civil then? Friends? Unless you're happy just never to see each other. Although how that'd work I don't know -"

"Come on, Rory, that's what I'm talking about. This crashes and burns and it's going to be fucking messy. Not just for us."

"You're right. And it's not that I don't care. I do. But I don't want us to go into this thinking how we'll cope if it goes wrong. _That's_ suicidal, isn't it? We shouldn't mess it up for them. Okay. But we get to be happy too, don't we? We shouldn't sabotage ourselves either just because -"

"Okay, I get that, but - -Seriously, what do you even know about me, Rory? D'you - -I mean, do we know each other anymore? You said it down there, too. We're not seventeen still."

"What, that we grew up? That's a good thing, Jess."

She pulled their hands towards her slightly.

A second.

Then no resistance.

He lowered himself back over her, unlinking one to support himself above as he spoke.

"We're different though. Probably," he said, raw-sounding and halting. "Fucking hope I am, anyway. You too, I bet. We should be, right? That's - -Isn't that the point of ... of all this?"

"Maybe," she replied. "Probably, even. Some things, anyway. That we've learnt stuff. That we're better, maybe. It doesn't mean we're not compatible or - -Fine," she said, exhaling with the concession and splaying a hand against the centre of his chest to look him keenly in the eye. "Maybe I don't know much about you now, but I think I know _you _still. And don't look at me like I'm crazy, because I'm not a total idiot, Jess, so I know it sounds ridiculous. But you know it isn't. Not really. And that's enough for me. Except it isn't because I want to know you more. Of course I do. I always have. You know that, don't you? And you know me, too. And it's not semantics so don't say it."

And in response, he kissed her.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks so much for reading. If you've got a sec to review, I'd appreciate it.


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